To Be New Again
by LoveKricket
Summary: For this is the remarkable tale of an extraordinary boy. When the unheard of almost happened. It happened right here, small town of Lima, Ohio. It happened on a cold Decembember night. This is the story of Kurt Hummel
1. Prologue

**To Be New Again**

**Prologue**

**I don't own Glee. **

You never expect it – at least, not so close to home.

It happens, every once and a while. You see a sad, deeply depressed face on the copy of the morning newspaper for a week. They homes were taken. They're wrecked. They're just like you.

Then you forget all about them at the next celebrity scandal.

You hear about it in the news, on the radio, from a friend of a friend. Not the most common thing to happen, but it's never that alarming either. It doesn't send a shock through the country, because, quiet frankly, what's the big deal? Well, the deal is now you're the victim.

The one to be found, a terrible, trembling mess of brokenness. Shards of the life you can only grasp at, gone from your reach. They say you'll recover. That you're a fighter. Well you are. You'll be better soon. Why not? You'll forget all about it. Well, you hope so, anyways. But it will take time. Time to heal the wounds. Time to find all the pieces and re-assemble them. It'll be hard, but you'll pull through. But you can't do it alone.

It happened to people. It happened to you. Can you believe that?

The chill of watchful eyes haunts you through the days. You jump at sudden noises, surprising movements. Cowering in a corner of the place you used to call home. The place you could _truly _be yourself. You're scared to look at you're reflection. That is, before you remember that it was a thing of your past.

Save for the night mares when you wake in a cold sweat, wanting only for the thick blankets to be off. The tears drench your pillow, soak your face. Quiet sobs that no one seems to care about. You only want to be free. Free from the restricting material; free from the weight on your chest. Free from the memories.

People will ask you how you're doing, if you're okay. Why wouldn't you be? Was it truly so horrible that people are tagging behind you everywhere. They ask, 'Are you okay?' 'How you doing?.' 'Are you sure you're alright?

The lie starts to sound believable even to your own ears, the ears that echo with the past.

Places that gave you comfort, places that kept you safe. Places like your bed, your sofa, your house, the mall. They won't feel so safe anymore. You check under the bed before you fall into that unrestful nights sleep. The vastness of the cushions make you cringe. You peek around the door frames, checking for boogie men.

And still, people ask if you're okay. You wish only to yell at them, scream at them for being so naïve. But instead, the lie slips easily over your tongue and through your traitorous teeth and the people you need, the people you love, they're walking away.

Leaving you in the dark; shaking and quivering. Checking over your shoulder for the hundredth time in a minute. Alone. Sad. Scared.

It happened to people.

It happened to you.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Hello. If you are reading this, I must insist that you stay with it to the end. For this is the remarkable tale of an extraordinary boy. When the unheard of almost happened. It happened right here, small town of Lima, Ohio. It happened on a cold December night. December 2nd, 2010, to be exact.

This is the story of a young boy who's world is about to be turned up side down. This is the story of Kurt Hummel.


	2. In the Dark of the Night

**To Be New Again**

**Chapter One: In the dark of the night**

**I'm not cool enough to own Glee. **

Kurt glanced at the green lights of the time before twisting the keys out and sliding through the door of his Navigator. He made it home just in time for curfew; thank goodness, because he couldn't afford to have his clothing allowance cut...again.

He shuffled along the slippery pavement, desperate to keep from falling on his ass. The cold December air bit at his exposed fingers, a few flakes of snow fell to his hair. As he reached the porch, he dug for his keys, hidden deep in his messenger bag. Pulling the long strand out the keys rattled in the stillness of the night.

Only...he didn't need his keys. The heavy wooden front door was cracked open. The warm air whispered through to his curious face. Carol and Finn, they knew to slam the door. It never shut properly.

The rounded leather of his shoe nudged the door and it creaked open a bit. Curious, because he _knows_ he locked it on the way to Mercedes. The smart thing to do was to wait outside, you know, in case.

But, really, what are the chances? Finn probably came home earlier to pick up a game, or something. No need to worry about anything, except, maybe the heater bill.

If there wasn't anything to worry about, why was he doing his earnest to slip through the door without making a sound? A glance around the boot room told Kurt that no one was home. Carol and Burt were still out for dinner, Finn was running late from Rachel's. As usual.

A bang just above his head told him otherwise. Kurt ground his teeth as he looked at the ceiling. He hated this old house at night. Creaking in the wind and floor boards that squeaked with the slightest touch.

Gathering his courage, which was never far from grasps, these days, he headed towards the stairs. Careful to step over the angrier parts of the house. Finn's baseball bat hung from the wall, next to Kurt's. Yeah, he played softball when he was younger. Why so surprised? Those were some nice tights.

He plucked the stainless steel black of a bat off the wall, leaving behind his pink wood as he crept up the stairs. His heart pounded so loudly in his chest, he was sure that his neighbors would be able to hear it.

He reached the office he stopped before the closed door and listened carefully inside. The ruffling of papers and the opening of draws sent a chorus of swears from Kurt's mind to be mumbled wordlessly though his lips.

Re-adjusting his hold on the bat, just like they had taught him, he tip-toed to the door. Only, he missed calculated, banging his heel angrily against the floor boards. It wasn't much of a noise, but in the quiet of the night, it echoed loudly.

Kurt swung the bat through the open door, before spinning his body after it, sliding into the room and looking around. The drawers were closed, a few of the papers were ruffled, but it was probably from the breeze that pushed at the curtains.

A soft something brought his gaze down, as Ms. Willis's cats puffy tail brushed against his leg, purring loudly. Kurt let the bat swing down, dangling lifelessly from his fingers.

"Stupid cat," he cursed, scooping the animal up and cradling the mass of white fuzz to the crock of his elbow. "Snuck in here when Finn came to get his game, didn't you? Well scat!" He chuckled and crossed the room, sliding the window down and locking it.

Lights winked on in his neighbor's house, and Kurt watched the old lady waddle through the door to her porch. Probably looking for her damned beast, Kurt bounced his arm, juggling the fuzz ball, "See that? If she trips and throws a hip, it's going to be your fault."

Kurt met the reflective green-yellow of the pupils, reminding him of the time. He turned to leave, but he had spent to long at the window. To long talking to the cat that would never reply. Distracting himself from what he knew, deep down, to be true.

A strong arm circled his waist, and the dry, rough hand clamped over his mouth. Kurt dropped the cat, and the bat, small hands flying to fight the hands off. His nails clawed against the arms, his feet flew around, kicking at the person, and more often, at the wooden desk. Until, finally, the grip was loosened and Kurt shot out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Stairs thumbed behind him as he slid into the kitchen, ducking behind a counter and covering his mouth with much softer hands to muffle his panting. Kurt leaned against the kitchen island, trying not to make a sound.

He shuffled around the counter until he could peek around the corner and see the stairs that they had both come down. But...no one. Cushions ruffled in the living room and Kurt stood shakily, scanning over the counter when it came to eye level. He tiptoed up the stairs, glancing over his shoulder as he walked. He couldn't see anyone in the living room...but that didn't mean the intruder wasn't there.

Kurt turned shakily and took a long step over the third stair, clutching tightly at the white railing. His heart pounded painful in his chest. And then it stopped. He turned in slow motion, face draining of the little colour that was left.

There, in the space between the kitchens, the living room and the stairs stood a masked man. Kurt knew he was a man because he bounced the aluminum bat up and down in his open palm with little to no grace.

His eyes were a light brown, almost colourless. Like he was empty. That's what chilled Kurt to the bone. Not the razor sharp smile, not the crunched up nose, not even the greasy hair. No, what scared him the most was the lifeless eyes. Like killing Kurt would just be another notch on his bed post.

Lights flashed through the living room curtains as a car drove by, and Kurt bounded up the stairs, into the office and wheeled the chair to the door. Stopping the intruder from open the door and brutally smashing Kurt's bones.

The bat swung against the door, making hallow and echoing screams through the room. Kurt glanced around, search for a phone. Of course, his was in his bag, by the front door, and the office phone had been disconnected.

The next best thing? Get into the closet. How ironic was that. It took him all of sixteen years to close the closet door behind him, and know the safest thing was to go crawling through the old fur coats. Roll in the dust and hide.

At least, Kurt supposed, the office had four or five closets. More than enough hidey holes for a petite boy like him to hide in.

The rough masked nose past the closet, Kurt could just see the empty eyes, lit by the moon, but nothing more. He held his breath until the figure past. Letting it out shakily as he rounded the desk. Should he stay hidden in the corner or should he make a break for it into his parents' room?

Well, the decision was made for him as the cat meowed softly, rubbing against his shin and purring. Kurt groaned as the door opened ever so slightly. Angry hands dug into his hair, pulling his from the closet and to the office floor.

"Stupid little boy," the man snarled, stepping over Kurt's squirming body and raising the bat to the roof. Kurt looked at the shining metal of the bat as it whooshed downwards, missing his face by inches, before what he did functioned.

The man clutched at himself, groaning and doubling over. Apparently, a steel toed boot to the groin hurt. Away, far away from the office, a door banged open. Kurt looked to the office door, freezing. The highly annoying voice echoed up the stairs and Kurt was lit with a new fire.

He squirmed from the floor and lunged for the door, "Finn! Finn!" he yelled, before the hands grabbed at his waist and his mouth, pulling him to the floor. The man straddled him and spat in his face, cursing.

Kurt wiggled, tears finally sliding down his porcelain cheeks as the blows came hard and fast to his stomach. The stairs rumbled and Kurt finally got the chance to hit the guy back, slugging him in the cheek and scampering backwards, to the legs of the desk.

Kurt was tugged to his feet as the hands clamped around his neck, around his mouth again. Finn burst into the room, Rachel hot on his heels, but stopped when the letter opener was pressed, cold like a snake, to his throat.

"Move and I'll cut," he threatened, Rachel's hands flew to the door frame, and the withered hands locked tighter to his mouth.

Finn glanced at Kurt, barely meeting his eyes before nodding. Hot tears leaked down his cheeks and to the hands, splattering against the shining metal. Finn raised his hands to his head, almost reaching the roof.

The hand at his throat loosened, and Kurt struggled to breath past the thick fingers. The knife waved in front of his nose as the man motioned the couple to move around the desk, leaving the door open. What Kurt and he couldn't see, because of the desk, was the discarded baseball bat.

When Rachel and Finn finally stood by the window, the cat howling behind them on the window ledge, the man started to drag Kurt towards the door, looking for an escape. Kurt met Rachel's strangely dry eyes, begging for her to help. But as she looked to the ground, Kurt realized there was nothing they could do. No way could they help.

It was up to him. He bit against the sausages, clenching his teeth together painfully and fighting the hand at his neck. It tasted like weathered leather and the coppery tingle of blood. And it did the trick. The hands loosened and he was thrown against the desk.

Clashing to the ground, Finn grabbed the bat and charged the guy, swinging it at the door frame, millimeters away from his head.

Restricting arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him gently away from the fighting giants. Rachel smoothed his hair out and he clutched to her soft arms. Sobbing painfully and rocking in his chest and the arms wrapped tighter around him. Whispers of encouragement shifting through his hair.

Kurt clamped his eyes shut, though it didn't make much difference. He could still hear the crunch of wood, the panting of breath, the squeak of sneakers, and then the thump as a body hit the floor.

Calloused fingers brushed away the tears, and Kurt opened his haunted green eyes to the soft brown eyes of his step-brother. He sniffled back, whipped a hand under his nose and allowed himself to be pulled into a tight hug.


End file.
